


Barbed Wire

by Threshie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Blades, Angel Healing, Belts, Blood and Injury, Body Horror, Comforting Dean Winchester, Cripes, Cutting clothes, Dean Winchester Takes Care of Sam Winchester, Did I miss anything horrible in here? No?, Everybody Lives, Gen, Guilty Castiel, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Late at Night, Passing Out, Platonic Cuddling, Podfic Welcome, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester Whump, Sigils, Sort of Implied - Freeform, Soul Doctor Castiel, Surgery, Team Free Will, Tied-Up Sam Winchester, Torture, Touchy-Feely, Violence levels probably closer to Teen I just rated it Mature to be safe since body horror elements, barbed wire, soul-touching, trap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 06:51:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15680226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Threshie/pseuds/Threshie
Summary: Sam is ensnared in a constricting, soul-shredding trap, and Dean and Cas resort to torturous measures to save him.





	Barbed Wire

It all happened so fast, and then so slow. The three of them were working a case. There was nothing but empty cornfields around them as far as the eye could see. It was a mild sunny day, and the task was an easy one: find sigils.

The marks were inscribed in the dirt with some magic ingredient powder blend Sam had the ingredients memorized for. It was very old, and all Dean needed to know was that once they messed up a sigil, the local demons wouldn’t have the ingredients to remake it again. Ruining just one of the sigils would knock out the whole power array of them that had empowered demons in this area for centuries.

Messing with the sigils involved splashing them with a mixture Sam had prepared before the drive there. The magic would damage at least two of the sigil mixture’s ancient ingredients and render them useless. Sam, Dean and Castiel each had a flask of the stuff.

It should’ve been simple. An open and shut case.

Plants growing on top of the sigils had a golden glint, subtle enough to be seen only up close, so they had to wade into the field to search. It was late evening when they arrived — not much daylight left, but flashlights caught the gold, so it would work. They’d split up.

Dean was just starting back from his corner of the field, no sigils in sight, when he heard Sam shouting that he’d found one. The next sound was a gasp. By the time Dean and Cas reached him, Dean’s brother was on the ground on his back, clutching at his stomach and choking in pain.

“Sam!” Dean barely skidded to a stop before kneeling beside him. He quickly swept his flashlight from Sam’s ruffled brown hair to his big hands to his clothes. Nothing. No blood, no visible wounds to cause the tooth-gritting grimace on Sam’s face. A few steps away his flask lay empty at the base of a golden stalk of corn, wet splashed stains seeping into the ground around it.

Mission accomplished, then. The power array was down. The case was most certainly still open, though.

“CAS!” Dean hollered, waving him over quicker. The angel was only a few steps behind him, and knelt on the other side of Sam.

“There isn’t a mark on him, but he’s…” Dean had a hand on Sam’s shoulder, and could hardly force himself to look away long enough to check Cas’s expression.

He wished he hadn’t. Cas looked alarmed and horrified, which were pretty strong expressions for the usually-solemn angel. Dean looked again at Sam, and still saw nothing.

“What is it? Cas?”

“It’s very serious,” Cas said finally, softly. He looked regretful, like he’d already failed to help Sam. Or maybe like Sam was beyond helping. Dean banished that last thought angrily. Cas could help him — he HAD to help him.

“Sam, try not to move,” the angel was saying gently, touching Sam’s forehead with his hand. Dean’s brother looked pale in the moonlight, his hazel eyes bright with pain. He managed a tiny nod. 

“What’s wrong?” Dean demanded. “You know what it is, so you can help him, right?”

Castiel kept a hand on Sam’s forehead to reassure him, looking grim.

“I’ll try, Dean.”

“Ugh. F-feels like—” Sam gave a little gasp and cut off whatever he was about to say, squeezing his eyes closed.

“Easy,” Dean told him, gripping his shoulder gently. “Cas knows what to do here.”

Shooting him an unhappy look, Cas turned to Sam again.

“That’s right, Sam. Listen to me carefully, both of you.” He directed Dean with another look before continuing, “You recognize this feeling because you’ve felt it before — it’s your soul that is taking damage. Someone left a trap for anyone who disturbs the sigils.”

“A trap?” Dean gripped Sam’s shoulder tighter, brows lowering. It figured — the power array was very old. “What kind of trap hits you in the friggin’ soul?” He demanded.

“It’s — it’s like barbed wire,” Cas explained. Reluctantly, he added, “Once it gets its hooks into a soul, any movement makes it tighten and shred that soul into tiny pieces. It also works on demons. If we don’t get it off of him, Dean, his soul will be ripped apart.”

“C…Cas, how?” Sam managed. He looked even paler than before, if that was possible. Dean patted the shoulder he’d been holding onto more gently, stunned. 

Sam could die from this. From something they’d just walked into, just like that. They’d all been running around on top of a minefield. It could have been Dean instead. He wished it WAS him instead, because then it wouldn’t be Sam.

“Yeah, how do we get it off?” He echoed Sam’s question.

“Carefully,” Cas replied. “I know how to remove it, Sam. I can do it.” It was easy to see how upset he was, and Dean had to wonder what their chances of success were.

“What can I do?” He asked, bracing himself. Considering how painful touching someone’s soul was, this probably wasn’t going to be pleasant.

“It’s very important that he doesn’t move,” Cas said grimly. “We might need to restrain him. Sam, do you understand? Only to help you.”

“Trust you,” Sam gritted out between little pained sounds. Dean’s heart squeezed at that. It was just like first aid, he told himself. Like pressing on wounds, or pulling out bullets, they had to cause some pain to save Sam. And Sam understood that. Dean still didn’t have to like it.

“I’ve got some cuffs in the trunk,” he suggested. “Rope, too.” There was nothing to tie Sam TO, though. It was an empty field. “Cas, can we at least move him back to the car?”

The angel quickly shook his head.

“No, any movement could cause irreparable damage to his soul. Be careful and take the same path we took to get here, and hurry, Dean — the wires will slowly tighten with every breath he takes.” 

Dean bit his lip and nodded, getting to his feet. He’d figure something out.  


* * *

  
Castiel hated this. Dean was doing his best to stay calm and be tough for Sam, but when he looked at Cas, those green eyes were pleading. Sam’s fate was very literally in the angel’s hands. He wished he could promise that it would all turn out okay. 

“Last one.” Dean’s voice interrupted Castiel’s thoughts. He looked up just in time to see the hunter tightly binding Sam’s right wrist to the last of the stakes they’d set into the ground. He’d already bound both ankles and the other wrist, leaving Sam with his arms and legs stretched out so that he couldn’t move them.

It felt wrong, tying him up like they were about to torture him. Cas didn’t have the heart to tell Dean that that’s exactly what they had to do. 

Even with the moonlight filtering through the cornstalks, darkness pressed on them. Dean had set several lanterns near the stakes, and the yellow glow made the scene worse, somehow, like Sam was about to be sacrificed. 

It didn’t help matters any that Cas had instructed Dean to unbutton his brother’s flannel shirt and get the white T-shirt beneath it out of the way. Taking it off would have required too much moving around even before tying Sam down, so Dean resorted to cutting the T-shirt open right through the center and laying the sides out of the way.

Sam looked unharmed on the surface, his skin perfect except for the dark anti-possession tattoo on his chest. The younger brother was still gasping, but now he couldn’t move around enough to make the wires tighten much, so his pain levels hadn’t gotten worse. Yet. 

Castiel put on the soldier’s face, the one that saw him through torture and battle unbroken, and sat up straight. He would do this. Sam needed him to do this.

“Dean,” he called. The older Winchester murmured something to Sam and brushed his hair back from his face before stepping over to where Cas was sorting through items brought from the Impala’s trunk. His brow creased with worry, that the angel hadn’t picked any of the items out to use.

“Ready?” He asked Cas.

The angel nodded immediately.

“Yes, we have to do this now.” He paused as Sam made a little choked sound of pain, both of them looking over at him. Cas lowered his voice. “Dean, you need to steady him. Keep him as calm as possible. This will be painful, but if he moves too much there’s nothing I can do to repair the kind of damage it will cause to his soul. Do you understand?”

Dean leveled a grim look at him, which Cas returned, and nodded.

“Got it,” he whispered, taking a step back toward Sam. “Let’s get this over with.”

Cas followed him, abandoning the items from the car. He’d been hoping to find something to help with removing the trap, but his angel blade would cut through the wires better than anything the Winchesters had.

Sam looked ashen, but was still alert enough to notice when Cas and Dean settled on the ground on either side of him. Dean patted one of his hands. He was putting on a smile even though Cas could feel the anxiety and guilt and darkness coming off of him in waves. 

“Okay, Sammy, we’ve gotta do this now.”

Sam nodded, trying to breathe shallow. He turned his eyes on Cas as the angel leaned over him. 

“Remember when I had to touch your soul, Sam?” Castiel asked, placing a hand on his shoulder. Sam made a little grimace at the memory alone, but nodded. “I will do my best not to touch it now,” Cas promised, “But my hands will be near it, and it’s still going to hurt. Whatever happens, you need to stay as still as you can and breathe as shallow as you can. Okay?”

“O-okay.” Sam nodded again. Cas touched his forehead, wishing he could be merciful and let Sam sleep through this. Deep, relaxed breathing would sink the barbs straight through his soul, and Castiel couldn’t risk that. As awful as it was, short gasps of pain did much less damage.

Sam looked up at him with such trust in his eyes. He wasn’t afraid or pleading. He understood.

Summoning the soldier’s face again, Castiel moved to sit near Sam’s waist and rolled up his sleeves. Dean scooted closer to his brother’s head and rested a hand on his hair, talking softly to him.

“We’re gonna get you outta this. We’ve had worse, right? No way some old trap is what gets you.”

As he studied the tangled mess of glinting lines and barbs embedded in Sam’s torso that the brothers couldn’t see yet, Cas wished it was that simple. He couldn’t actually see Sam’s soul, just the trap. The glow of a soul was more of a feeling, like radiant heat from a fire — and feeling was the only way Cas would be able to pull this off.

“Are you ready?” He placed a palm on Sam’s stomach just beneath his ribcage, waiting for an answering nod before carefully sinking his hand in. Sam made a strangled little sound and his whole body tensed. Cas set his jaw and let Dean try to soothe his brother. All of the angel’s focus had to be set on the task at hand.

The trap glinted again, visibly wrapping tighter in on itself — and on Sam’s soul. He bit back a cry at that, and Cas felt as well as saw him shudder.

“Shh, shh, easy…” Dean was leaned over his brother, a hand resting on his hair and the other on his chest. “Eaaasy, I know,” he soothed, when Cas sank his other hand in as well and Sam cried out. “Got to relax, Sam…”

Cas did his best to shut them out, narrowing his attention to the string-thin loops of wire as he tested which was more likely to move when he pulled it. There were several dozen. He either needed to pull a loop out enough to cut it — which would shred anywhere he pulled it across with barbs along the way — or he had to find one of the ends and start there.

Feeling for an end was the only way to avoid much damage, so he set to work probing around the wire while trying not to touch the tattered edges of Sam’s soul. That kind of pain would make Sam flinch, and that would cause more damage. Sam’s soul was already so scarred from his time in the Cage with Lucifer that the trap could destroy it easier than most.

They didn’t have time for gentleness, and hardly enough for Cas to go slowly and avoid causing more damage. Sam would just have to endure it.  


* * *

  
Sam was no stranger to pain. He’d endured torture at the hands of the Devil himself. Whatever Cas was doing to his stomach, it was excruciating, but that wasn’t the problem. There was a sickening kind of pressure, like being stabbed by something large in slow motion. Indefinitely.

Sam was trying to hold still, but laying there calmly while being stabbed was asking a lot, even for somebody as strong-willed as him. He was actually grateful to be tied down so he could barely flinch.

“Sam.”

It felt like they’d been at this for awhile, but he was pretty sure it had been less than ten minutes. Cas touching his soul before had been a matter of seconds — this was not as agonizing as that, but it had the anticipation of it the whole time, too. Cas said he’d try not to touch the soul, but it might have to happen.

“Sam?”

If Sam could hold still through that, he told himself, he should damned well be able to hold still right now. Castiel’s hands were nothing next to the glimpses of pain the trap kept giving him. They were split second things, but so sharp that they left him dizzy.

If Cas didn’t get this thing off of him, he’d die with that feeling.

“Gotta breathe shallow, Sammy. Still with me?” Dean was doing that ‘so calm the situation must be dire’ thing where all criticism vanished. His voice was warm and reassuring, and right now Sam may as well have been the only other person in the world. 

He managed to grunt an affirmative to the question, shaking. He’d gone very quiet, he realized. Dean was patting his cheek, keeping a hand on his chest like he might try to sit up — like sitting up was even a possibility right now. Sam couldn’t use any of his energy disguising how much pain he was in, not when holding still was this damn important.

What was Cas doing to him? It felt like he was doing damage, not preventing it. Sam told himself to trust the angel. Cas wouldn’t hurt him unless he had no other choice.

Things blurred together. A little time passed, or a lot. At some point there was a tugging sort of pain in Sam’s abdomen, and his vision flashed with motes of light. It took a second to recognize the little whimpering sound that followed as himself. 

“Shhh, it’s okay, Sammy,” Dean soothed, petting his hair. Sam was only vaguely aware of it; he felt light-headed, like he was drifting sideways, and Dean’s hands were miles away. Castiel’s were, unfortunately, much closer.

Sam looked down at his stomach.

Cas said nothing, didn’t look at them, just frowned intently down at his hands and never stopped moving for a second. Sam couldn’t tell if the blood staining up to his wrists was real or not. Looked real. How could that be good?

The ever-present pressure shifted in a gut-twisting, lurching way, and Sam groaned, watching Cas pull one hand up out of his belly. There was a bloody, metallic wire clasped in his fingers, little razor barbs jutting from it like the thorns on a rose. Reaching inside to touch souls didn’t actually cause physical injuries, so the blood must have been a hallucination or something.

Right?

Cas held his angel blade in the other hand, and the wet redness looked perfectly real smeared on the cool metallic silver handle— 

A hand gripped Sam’s chin and turned his face to the side. Dean was bowed down low, so close their foreheads almost touched, and he kept a hand on Sam’s cheek as he whispered to him.

“Don’t look, Sam. Look at me, okay?” He whispered, holding Sam’s gaze. “I’m right here, little brother. I’m here.”

“Dean,” Sam choked, almost a sob. The stabbing in his stomach seemed to move faster, and he felt like he was smothering. The pressure was crushing him. Every little move sent bright sharp pain through his soul. Above him, Dean’s expression was reassuring, but his eyes gave it away. How scared he was. How helpless.

Was Sam going to die?

There came another lurching, shifting feeling, and Sam started drifting again, the world fading in and out. 

“Nngh…”

“Sam…no, look at me, Sam. Hey. Sammy?”

Was Dean talking again? Was that real?

Sam couldn’t understand any more words, but he could hear the tone. Gentle at first, then more and more alarmed as he didn’t respond. He wanted to say something and reassure Dean, but his mouth felt like it belonged to somebody else right now.

This felt an awful lot like dying had.  


* * *

  
Dean felt sick. As strong and stubborn as Sam was, after nearly an hour of the torturous work Cas was doing, he’d passed out. 

Dean had panicked, thinking that would kill him, until Cas had assured him that he’d cut the trap’s wires into small sections by then, so it couldn’t constrict anymore. The angel was coldly intent on the task at hand. Dean recognized it as his “soldier face.” He wasn’t sure he could have done what Cas had just done, and was still doing.

He sat with Sam, keeping a hand curled in his hair protectively, and watched as Cas drew out short piece after piece of glinting, shimmering barbed wire from his brother’s stomach. At some point, reaching with just his hands had failed, and he’d sliced an incision below Sam’s ribcage with the angel blade. Every bit of the trap he drew out, he sliced off with the blade, too. 

There was blood everywhere. If it had been anyone but Cas, Dean wouldn’t have let them do this to his brother. 

As horrible as it all looked, Cas was being very careful. He’d sped up his movements, but keeping the barbs from cutting Sam’s soul any further meant going at a certain pace. Removing the bits of wire took much longer than feeling out the trap’s location had. Dean was grateful his brother was unconscious for this part.

Finally, Cas was placing the last piece aside. He shoved the pile of them further from Sam in the dirt, then turned and healed his stomach with a touch. Sam stirred at the bright white light of it, and Dean was instantly focused on him again, combing gentle fingers through his hair.

“Hey, there he is…” 

Sam blinked dazedly up at him, shivering in the night air. Dean reached to wrap his flannel shirt around him, but Cas caught his hand.

“I need to touch his soul now, before we move him,” he said grimly, still with the soldier face on. “To be sure of the damage.”

Dean frowned, glancing down at Sam. He’d already been put through so much pain, and now this. It made sense to assess the damage, though — Cas hadn’t actually touched Sam’s soul the whole time he’d been working on the wires. That probably would have made Sam flinch too much to be safe.

“Sammy,” he told his brother gently, meeting his eyes. “You hear that?” 

Sam was hardly conscious, and the last thing he must have wanted was more pain. Still, he nodded.

“It’ll be quick,” Dean promised, sitting back enough to slip off his belt. Actually touching souls was agonizing — even worse than what Cas had just done. Dean settled by his brother again, and got no protest when he slipped the folded belt into Sam’s mouth for him to bite down on.

“Ready? Okay, it’s okay,” Dean murmured, resting a hand on his forehead. He’d lost count of how many times he wished they could switch places.

At Sam’s nod, Cas sank one hand into his stomach again. He didn’t stop like last time, though, reaching almost to his elbow. Sam was choking in pain around the belt, shuddering. 

“I know, Sam,” Dean whispered, keeping the hand on his head.

He wasn’t sure if Sam heard him. The huffing breaths he took around the belt sounded almost like sobbing.

Cas removed his hand after only about thirty seconds, but with the kind of pain Sam was in it felt like minutes. Dean gently pulled the belt out of his brother’s mouth as soon as it was over, bowing down to hug one arm around him.

“We’re done, it’s done,” he soothed, just like that time Sam broke his arm when they were kids and had to have it set. “It’s over, Sammy. You did so good…” Sam buried his nose in Dean’s shoulder, trembling. They sat there for a few minutes, Dean still murmuring to him.

“C-can you…untie me, please,” Sam whispered finally, even his voice shaking. Dean could tell his efforts were comforting, but Sam had been tied down a lot in much worse situations in the past. This probably reminded him of them.

“Absolutely,” Dean said, trying to sound confident. He sat up, patting Sam’s chest gently before getting to work loosening the knots. Cas silently moved to do the same on his other side. Sam watched them both.

“He’ll be okay, right?” Dean asked the angel, and he hated how much it sounded like pleading. Cas didn’t decide Sam’s fate — if his soul was damaged, that wasn’t Cas’s fault.

Cas had a look in his blue eyes, like maybe he was waking up from a trance. At Dean’s words, his brows pinched, and the sudden emotion on his face was startling. 

“Yes,” he replied heavily, untying Sam’s ankle next. Dean did the same on the other side, and Sam was free to move again.

Dean returned his focus to his brother, settling beside him again and helping him sit up with an arm around his waist. Sam winced a little, but he seemed more exhausted than hurt now. The blood on his stomach made him do a bit of a double take. 

“You’re okay,” Dean promised, resting a supportive hand on his arm. “Cas had to use the angel blade for a little surgery, but he healed you up.”

“Cas…” Sam looked over at the angel, who was just sitting there not far from them, hands painted in Sam’s blood and a distant look in his eyes. Sam held out the arm that wasn’t around Dean, still shaking a little. “C-Cas…”

Now that the soldier face had retreated, Cas looked downright upset. Dean glanced between him and Sam, then offered an arm as well. 

“C’mon, Cas, get in here,” he encouraged. The angel glanced at him sadly, but scooted over and allowed them to hug him. The brothers each wrapped an arm around him, huddling all together there in the dirt.

“Your soul’s scratched,” Cas admitted heavily after a moment. “It’s not a threat…but it’s permanent. I’m sorry, Sam. I-I hated to hurt you.”

Sam rested his chin on top of the angel’s head, hugging him closer.

“You saved me, Cas,” he said. “It’s okay.”

“Did what you had to,” Dean agreed, sliding his hand up to rest on the back of Cas’s neck. Those blue eyes hurt to look into. Did he think Dean would hate him for hurting Sam, or did he just hate himself a little more?

“I’m sorry,” Cas said again, resting his head on Sam’s shoulder. He sighed. 

Sam was talking now, but he was also leaning on Dean pretty heavily. He was nowhere near okay yet, and the night had been exhausting for all of them.

“Let’s go find a motel,” Dean suggested, sitting up. Sam sighed slowly, and Cas was reluctant to let go of him to move. “C’mon, guys,” Dean prodded them, “We’ll get a room with a big bed and remake this cuddle pile there, whatever you want, but we can’t be in this field when the demons come check on their screwed up power grid.”

“…I could sleep for days,” Sam admitted.

“I could sleep,” Cas admitted in return. 

“But not in this field,” Dean said patiently, pushing himself to his feet. “Right? First we get to the car, then I drive us to a nice warm bed. C’mon, Sammy, let’s go. Cas, you saved his ass, don’t you dare feel bad about that for one more minute.”

It took Dean trying to pull Sam up by the arm and failing miserably for Cas to finally smile again. He quickly moved to help. Once Sam was on his feet, Dean and the angel both supported him and helped him walk. He was still pretty shaky, but managed to crawl into the back seat of the Impala and lay down. 

Dean only just remembered to grab the little box of items Cas had been going through. They drove off into the sunrise, leaving blood, stakes, ropes, and several lanterns still glowing out in the field. Let the demons wonder.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading my fic! Hope you enjoyed all the whump and hurt/comfort and angst. I like to think the boys got a motel room with a big comfy bed and just piled in and napped together all day after this, while the local demons freaked out like an angry hornet's nest that their power was cut off. Comments and kudos are always appreciated, and make my day! ♥
> 
> EDIT: I wrote a little sequel, because the boys deserve cuddles. [Check it out here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17821289)


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